


folie à deux

by bodysong



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Alternate Universe, Canon-Typical Violence, Multi, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-15
Updated: 2018-07-18
Packaged: 2019-03-05 04:38:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13380342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bodysong/pseuds/bodysong
Summary: He supposes he could find him at the sports building, or on the track.  Worm his way into his space.  Sakamoto, with the short, dark hair, and brown eyes.  Who isn't as tall as he seems, without his track mates clustering around him.  Who Ann doesn't like, but says has a bright future.An AU where Akira transfers to Shujin in his first year, and watches the track team crumble firsthand.





	1. trèfles

**Author's Note:**

> this has been rolling around in my head for a long time, and i'm happy i have my shit together enough to see it through. canon divergence until the ending where it will follow the events of persona 5.

It was early Spring when he had caught sight of that man, hands clawing at a woman shrinking to half her size, voice trembling as she called for help. He was far away from the altercation, and the distance gave him the opportunity to ignore it, if he chose to.

 

That night plays in his head as he lies in bed, under the care of stranger who doesn't take well to him. He doubts anyone will; the scorn his homeroom teacher had for him immediately seems to spell out the rest of his fate.

 

The woman's sob mingles with the nefarious glare of the man, blood pooling down the planes of his sharp face. Her voice becomes louder, hysterical. Laughing at him, taunting him.

 

He turns to his side, searching for his phone in the dark. Six minutes until it would be two in the morning, and another hour passes him by while he struggles to put his mind at ease. There was no way he would be able to make a good "first impression" among classmates, and he suspects he is already disreputable among his other instructors.

 

His probation is a full year. The social ramifications seem like a life-sentence. His stomach churns as he watches his phone clock hit two a.m.

 

* * *

 

Shujin is a gated academy, sprawling with student activity as he navigates the modest walk from the subway station. Until he reaches his classroom, he's just another student, blending in with black blazers and white turtlenecks. He hides behind his glasses, avoiding curious glances. His steps feel uncoordinated, head pounding – the result of his unrest. He's not sure if he slept at all last night.

 

The steps to the third floor are gruelling, needing the aid of a hand against the railing.

 

His classroom door is open, with a few students sitting at their seats before the start of the school day. His homeroom instructor is seated at her desk. He looks at her expectantly as he walks inside, but her eyes are quick to drift back to her planner.

 

"Good morning, Kurusu. Glad to see you're taking your education seriously." Her voice is teeming with nonchalance, which he suspects to be a façade.

 

"Good morning, Ms. Kawakami," he replies easily, and leaves it at that. His lack of sleep must have left him irritable.

 

Her smile is practiced when she actually turns to face him, but it rescinds back to a thin line. "Your seat is the fourth row, beside the windows." Kawakami leaves the rest for him to figure out. She had already given him his textbooks and workbooks upon their first meeting the day before. There was too much streamlining in his head to give any of the material a good once-over.

 

He does his best not to drag his feet against the floor as he walks to his desk, behind one of the few students already sitting at her desk. Her eyes are kind, transfixed with texting someone, crinkling as she laughs silently.

 

Weariness tugs at his body, urging him to collapse in his seat.

  

* * *

 

"Kurusu."

 

A finger tapping at his desk wakes him up. It's the girl in front of him. His eyes lock with hers, but he can hear the shuffling of papers around the classroom.

 

"Today's exercise," she informs him, keeping the conversation short. Shit. He can't remember if this was something to be handed in at the end of class. She hands him two papers, one for the boy behind him.

 

"Thank you," he slurs, still in the throes of exhaustion. When he hands the last paper back, the girl is still turned around. Her dark, silken hair cascades off her shoulder. He looks down at the paper and realizes he needs a partner, and he's probably looking right at her. "I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name."

 

"Suzui."

  

* * *

 

His fatigue doesn't help Suzui finish their assignment any faster, much less him sleeping through most of the lesson. Her demeanor is soft, unbothered, but he knows she must be irritated. They're still working until the lunch bell rings, and Kawakami allows them to work until they're finished.

 

He feels the need to apologize. "I'm...sorry, Suzui. You can leave, I'll finish it."

 

"You slept through the whole class," she says. Despite her jab, she still sounds playful. "It's okay. You can owe me lunch."

  

* * *

 

Suzui stays at his desk for the rest of the lunch break, eating a yakisoba pan he was able to scrap together with his change. Her attention is still drawn to her phone, replies quick and plentiful from the other party. The company is nice – preferable even, to having someone talk to him constantly.

 

"Kurusu."

 

Oh.

 

"You're not a bad guy."

 

A strange thing to say so suddenly, but it fills him with relief. Suzui gets another text and their conversation gets put on the backburner. The sunlight dances on her hair. She's a pretty girl, though he can't help but feel kindred with her; he wonders if he's looking too deeply into her dark circles, alluding to the same sleepless nights he's been plagued with.

 

Their lunch break is much shorter than he thinks, though it's due to their working past the bell and waiting in line for their food. Suzui shoves the last of her meal into her mouth, eyes still glued to her phone as she swivels back to her seat. There's a twinkle to her eye.

 

Maybe this school year wouldn't be as hopeless as he imagined.

 

* * *

 

The last bell of the day rings, and Suzui is already packing her bag to leave. He figures as much, feeling bashful at thinking she would humour him like she had done at lunch. She does allow him a small pleasantry upon her departure, promising to meet him tomorrow.

 

He sinks in his seat for a little bit longer, waiting for the rest of the students to leave. Sunlight streams through the foliage from neighbouring trees, the shadows waltzing upon Suzui's desk. Groggily, he sits up from his chair, stretching freely.

 

"I'm happy to see you had a good nap today," Kawakami quips from behind her desk, erasing the lesson from the previous teacher on the blackboard. "I expect better of you tomorrow."

 

"Y-yeah," he mutters shyly, suddenly feeling wind at his feet. His gaze drops lower in shame, watching his feet move on their own accord – until he bumps into someone accidentally.

 

"I'm—"

 

"Watch where you're going!"

 

It's a chorus of voices, all belonging to students in what he assumes is their athletic wear. It would appear he bumped into the boy with shorter hair than the others, an arm slung around him by one of his teammates. His eyes bore into him while he passes without a hitch. Deep, brown eyes; they remind him of Suzui. He says nothing. His teammates goad him back into the conversation, and the incident passes as if it had never happened.

  

* * *

 

Scarlet red jackets.

 

He knew of Shujin before transferring, for its budding athletic department. He can't help his mind from replaying bumping into that boy. Embarrassment burns his face. He clings tighter to the subway rail above him. One day in, he's already in hot water with Kawakami, and he's already humiliated himself in front of a clique of jocks. He supposes it could be worse.

 

His hand itches for his phone, but he knows there's no messages to look forward to. He lets his mind wander back to Suzui. To the person she texts with such diligence, and the joy that it brings to her otherwise expressionless face. It could be more than one person, of course, but something in his gut suggests just one. He stops himself from daydreaming about her, feeling invasive.

 

Scarlet red jackets.

 

Track pants rolled up to his knees.

 

His eyes were like Suzui's.

  

* * *

 

"How was your first day?"

 

Sojiro Sakura is tending to a coffee mug he suspects he's been tending to for a very long time. There's only one customer in his café.

 

"Fine," he replies curtly.

 

"Sticking your nose out of trouble?" A jab, but playful. He allows his shoulders to relax a bit.

 

"Yes."

 

"'Atta boy." Sojiro eases off relaxing his weight on the counter, perhaps suggesting he should sit down to do his schoolwork in the dining area. When he thinks about the state he left the attic in, he decides it's not a bad idea. Sojiro seems to be in a better mood today. Hopefully he can weather a few good relationships during his stay in Tokyo. Good, or just bearable. He's not really picky.

 

He sits at the barstool, flipping open a textbook for English and the matching exercise book. It's littered with Suzui's notes for him, scrawled into the margins. He decides to force a better night's sleep on himself tonight, if only for Suzui's sake. He wasn't a bad student.

 

He wasn't a bad person.

  

* * *

 

_Please...someone, help me...hahaha!_

  

* * *

 

The sky is grey the next morning. He's not much for superstitions, but the forecast was already hampering his mood. He had a full night's rest, though he can already remember the dreams he was having. He wonders if they'll ever stop.

 

No sense dwelling on it now, as if he could fix any of it.

 

Sojiro greets him downstairs with a cup of coffee already on the counter. Black, unsure of how his ward likes it. He decides to drink it black. Despite living in a café he doesn't think he'll ever get sick of the aroma.

 

"Come home right after school, all right?" Still not off the hook. He expects as much, but can't help but expect more. Maybe he's still an optimist, despite everything. Being an optimist strives for change, at least.

 

Sojiro sends him off, and it's another forty minutes until he arrives at Shujin's gate. This time he can hear the muttering, girls scrabbling away from him. Yesterday was a free pass. He keeps his hands in his pockets, head ducked low. He's looking at his feet again, the reason why he bumped into that boy. He supposes he's unlucky enough for it to happen again, this time facing ridicule from the boy with Suzui's vacant eyes.

 

Suzui is at her desk early again, hand cradling her face. "Good morning, Kurusu."

 

"'Morning, Suzui." He had been looking forward to being greeted by Suzui, but the moment had already passed before class had begun.

 

He sinks into his seat, the resolve he had before in Leblanc suddenly feeling ripped away from him. He feels pathetic. He opens his school bag, taking out the homework he finished before Sojiro's single customer left the café. Suzui's hair is dim in front of him, pulled tight into a high ponytail, some locks falling loosely to frame the sides of her face.

 

There's still some time before class begins.

 

"Who do you text all the time?"

 

Suzui turns back quickly; excited, almost. "O-oh, my best friend." The screen lights in her hand. It seems to be a picture sent via text. She inspects it before she deems it appropriate to share. "It's hard to miss her, right?" Suzui smiles. The girl in the picture is tall, tousled ash-blonde hair flowing endlessly down her back. "She goes to our school. She just started modelling. I'm so happy for her!" It seems like a picture from her first shoot.

 

"She's beautiful," he can't help but say absently, fixating on her light eyes.

 

Suzui giggles. "Back off." Playful. "She doesn't like boys."

 

He knows when to take a hint. He lets Suzui reply to the picture, but she still stays turned around on his desk. Between texts she asks him if he had any difficulty with the homework, which he replies he didn't, thanks to her help. She giggles again, before her face turns red.

 

"You can't see that," she says quickly, turning back to her seat.

 

He knows when to take a hint.

 

* * *

 

Today's lesson is for an independent study, one he's grateful he stayed awake for. He supposes Suzui has more pressing matters to attend to when the lunch bell rings.

 

Evidently, she doesn't, when she turns back to his desk. "Gonna sit in the classroom again?"

 

Briefly he thinks about responding with how he really feels instead of condensing it. That he feels lonely, and bitter, and guilty—

 

"Shiho!"

 

The girl's voice is booming above the heads of the students still in the room. It's the tall, blonde girl.

 

Shiho. Shiho Suzui.

 

"Ann?" Suzui's voice is soft, looking over her shoulder. She has little time to get up before the tall girl is walking over, towering over her desk. She looks the same in her photos, only with her hair tied back into twin tails. Disobeying the uniform policy. Out of the ordinary.

 

"I don't wanna get bailed on again for lunch this time," she says, lowering her head, closing in on Suzui. He feels like he's walked in on something he shouldn't have, despite having been sitting there for hours.

 

Suzui pinches her nose, and the tall girl—Ann, relents. A foreign name, something out of an American movie. "I had to finish my assignment with him! I couldn't leave it all to him."

 

Ann looks at him, and suddenly those eyes he was captivated with turn to ice. She relaxes soon enough, probably recognizing him from the rumours being spread around the school.

 

"You're the transfer student everyone's talking about."

 

Bingo.

 

He looks around for something to say, but Suzui interjects. "You of all people shouldn't be judging anyone based on what the rumours are," she says. The words are harsh, but Ann doesn't seem to take offense. Though it was vague, he seems to have an idea of what Suzui means. Ann seems like an outsider, despite her beauty. She doesn't – and can't – blend in the way he desperately wishes he was able to. It doesn't seem to bother her.

 

He doesn't expect Ann to sigh and sit at the desk adjacent to him. "I'm...sorry, um..."

 

"Akira."

 

Suzui looks at him, searching for something that isn't there, then looks back to Ann. "He's my friend, Akira Kurusu."

 

He can't help the smile tugging at his lips, and the tightness in his legs begins to ease. Ann sits up, and Shiho's head moves to follow her. But quickly she's taking her phone back out, placing it on his table. "Can you give me your number? So I can text you assignments you've missed."

 

Ann is a few steps away at this point, but notices the pair exchanging numbers. She takes her phone out from her bag. "Give me your number, too." Jealousy, maybe. His mind wanders to the picture Shiho forbade him from seeing.

 

After setting both of them as contacts, Shiho is pulling at his sleeve for him to get up. "Come on, Akira. Maybe there's still some yakisoba pan left." He gathers his things quickly, his world moving much more quickly than he could've ever hoped for.

 

Shiho still continues to drag him, and his eyes look to the floor in disarray. As she lets him go to turn into the hallway, he bumps into someone.

 

"I'm...sorry."

 

The rolled-up track pants.

 

"Hey," he says. Akira looks up at him to reply, but it seems he was talking to Shiho and Ann. He's glad he didn't humiliate himself in front of the boy for a second day in a row. He doesn't seem to be bothered by being knocked into. Akira might as well be a dust particle to him.

 

"What do you want, Sakamoto," Ann says, voice flat.

 

"Wasn't talking to you. Suzui, Kamoshida says tomorrow's practice is moved to today."

 

His voice isn't what he was expecting. It's soft, light. Airy.

 

Shiho's expression looks grim. "Oh."

 

Ann takes an arm around her waist, ushering to move along. "Noted. Now get lost."

 

"Heh. Nice to see you too, Takamaki." He—Sakamoto, kicks a bit at the ground before leaving, turning to the stairwell. He seems less imposing without his group of teammates. Around Akira's height.

 

Akira moves to follow Shiho and Ann before he gets swamped in the crowds littering the hallway. It's easy to spot Ann with her head spouting from everyone else, blond locks fluttering in the air. Her engagement with Sakamoto was hostile in a way that left his stomach in knots. Shiho's expression only seems to wilt the further she walks down the hallways.

 

He knew today wouldn't be good.

  

* * *

 

Shiho packs up to leave already, and again with another promise to see him tomorrow. Akira holds her to her word, and she laughs.

  

* * *

 

On the subway home, Akira takes out his phone.

 

_Hey, Ann. Who's Kamoshida?_

 

Her reply is instant.

 

(…) _An asshole._

 

_And who's Sakamoto?_

 

(…) _A hotshot. I'm surprised you haven't heard of him?_

 

Ann texts many times at once.

 

(…) _He's the star on the track team._  
(…) _He's gonna carry the team to the nationals._

  

* * *

 

He's home on time, to Sojiro's approval. There's a decent chunk of customers sitting down at the booths. There's chatter about rain in the next couple of minutes. Sojiro seems to be a happy host for stranded patrons. He nods as he lets Akira withdraw to the attic.

 

Rain specks at the window as soon as he makes his way upstairs. He wonders if Shiho is already done practice. He didn't know she played any sports. Akira decides to ignore turning his lamp on, leaving the room dark. Collapsing into bed with the soft sounds of rain thrumming at his window were a deadly combination. He turns his phone on.

 

_Hey, Shiho. Can you text me back when you're available?_

  

* * *

 

_Who the hell is this kid..._

  

* * *

 

Akira startles awake, cursing himself for drifting off. He didn't start any of his homework yet. He turns on the phone to check the time, 7:55 p.m., and a text from Shiho.

 

_Hi, Akira._

 

He wonders if he's reading too much into it.

 

_How was practice?_

 

(…) _The same as always._

 

It's best not to pry.

 

_Can I hang out with you tomorrow? After school?_

 

(…) _Okay. But Ann will be there._

 

_I don't mind._

 

He hears solid, if not overdramatic, footsteps up the stairs. "Oh, you're awake now," he says, with a chuckle. "Dinner's waiting for you downstairs. I have something to do, so I'm closing the shop for now. How about next week I start teaching you how to run the place?"

 

_I have to go. I'll see you tomorrow._

 

(…) _See you tomorrow._

  

* * *

 

Sojiro isn't there in the morning. A single cup of black coffee sits neatly under a plate on the counter, along with a key and note to lock the door once he leaves for school. He supposes the key is for him to keep.

 

His tongue feels heavy in his mouth as he traverses the morning rush hour to his train, hoping to see Shiho before class was set to begin.

 

* * *

 

"It's him, that criminal transfer student."

 

"Ugh..."

 

* * *

 

Shiho's head is in her arms at her desk. He wonders if she slept last night. Akira taps at her desk.

 

"Good morning, Shiho."

 

She picks her head up, smiling faintly. Her eyes are hollow. "Oh, Akira...good morning." Her bangs cover it, but there's a faint bruise nestled under her hairline.

 

_He's an asshole._

_He's a hotshot. I'm surprised you haven't heard of him?_

 

Her head drops back down into her arms as soon as Akira moves behind her. He's only minutes earlier than the bell ringing for the start of another school day.

 

Shiho continues to sleep against her desk through Kawakami's lecture, though Kawakami doesn't seem bothered by it. He might have hallucinated it, but for the first time Kawakami's expression looks tender, almost somber.

 

Kawakami declares a free period, despite giving a reading last class to be discussed during this one.

 

She has to know something.

 

* * *

 

By lunch, Ann escorts Shiho out of their classroom again, and he doesn't mind it.

 

He doesn't like the feeling of sitting in the same seat all day, and decides to take a walk after finishing his lunch. He's been at the school for three days already, but this is his first time exploring anywhere that wasn't his own classroom and the faculty office.

 

The main courtyard sprawls between buildings, nesting many students during their break. He's never been to the athletic department, despite hearing nothing but prestige for it.

 

His damned legs walk toward it, looking for scarlet jackets.

 

He doesn't notice Sakamoto walking by him, less extravagant in his regular uniform. Hands in his pockets, head low, like he wants to be lost in a crowd. His lip is cut. Sakamoto locks eyes with him, then looks away quickly, as if in apology. Akira looks back to see him already gone. His legs tug him back, away from the sports facility. The bell rings for next period's class.

  

* * *

 

After school, Ann decides the three of them should go to a dessert café together. Ann and Shiho share a dessert, while Akira is content with a black coffee.

 

"Weirdo," Ann chides, "just get a crepe. Worried it's gonna make you fat?"

 

He wishes they could have met under circumstances like this. Carefree. He supposes nothing was ever going to be normal for him ever again. He found friends, despite his reputation, yet they all feel clouded under a miasma. And there was nothing he could do about it.

 

"Hey Akira, are you okay?"

 

Shiho is worried for him, as if he's the one with a bruise under his bangs.

 

"Um." They could discuss this, couldn't they? Gossip about teachers. Students do it all the time. "Does Kamoshida—"

 

Ann plants her fist on the table, surprising the both of them.

 

"Yes he does!" She belts. "He's a fucking creep. Do yourself a favour and stay away from him." The light café air turns sour.

 

Shiho seems at a loss for words.

 

"What about Sakamoto?"

 

"Huh?" Ann groans in confusion. "Why are you worried about that guy?"

 

"I saw him today, with a split lip."

 

The girls recline back into their booth. They know something. They're hiding something. Everyone's hiding something—is the whole school in on it?

 

"Sakamoto, you know, he's...got a future ahead of him." It's strange hearing that from Ann, given her earlier tussle with him. "But he's not like...a kiss-ass. He doesn't like Kamoshida. He's open about it."

 

_That's why he deserves a busted lip? Then what about Shiho?_

 

He holds his tongue.

 

"It puts Kamoshida in a rotten mood, but who else is gonna say it? All the teachers are in on it. We're all tiptoeing around it. I wish he'd just die."

 

"Ann..." Shiho's voice is pleading. Ann grumbles, but apologizes, rubbing at Shiho's shoulder.

 

They drop it afterwards.

 

Sakamoto is always at the tip of his tongue. He doesn't know why. It's invasive. Shiho and Ann enjoy their dessert together, while Akira watches the brown bubbles edge along his cup of coffee. Sakamoto, just his surname. He doesn't even know what class he's in.

 

He supposes he could find him at the sports building, or on the track. Worm his way into his space. Sakamoto, with the short, dark hair, and brown eyes. Who isn't as tall as he seems, without his track mates clustering around him. Who Ann doesn't like, but says has a bright future, and doesn't let an asshole boss him around.

 

Sakamoto, with Shiho's eyes, dark circles haunting them. He wonders what makes him stir at night, unable to sleep.

 

Is he really thinking about this? He doesn't even know him. Akira might as well be a speck of dust to him; invisible. He's someone Akira admires almost instantly, wondering if he could stand up to injustice like that.

 

He thinks about the woman who laughs at him in his dreams.


	2. piques

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you to everyone who has left a kind comment about this fic! it really encourages me to keep going ;_;
> 
> while i am not going to be graphic about sexual abuse and suicide in this fic, it is hinted at, please keep this in mind, and happy reading

April enters its second week. 

 

Rainwater begins to flood the street in front of Leblanc.  Sojiro is sighing while Akira shakes his umbrella outside, before dragging it in quickly.  The weather scares away his patrons, though the gloomy atmosphere outside complements Leblanc's moody interior.  At least, in his opinion. 

 

Sojiro is as miserable as the weather.  He keeps checking his phone.  Akira would never peg him for the type. 

 

Thick droplets tap at the window as he works, sitting at the same middle booth he's grown accustomed to over time.  He's drowsy already.  His notes bore him; only Shiho's scribbled tips dotted with stars and cat ears makes any of it bearable. 

 

He hasn't spoken to her about that day, when he noticed her bruising.  It feels like he's hiding from it, shying away.  He recoils.  That's not who he wants to be. 

 

* * *

 

"Akira, have you thought about what clubs you want to be in?" 

 

Shiho slumps on his desk, from what he perceives as only laziness; nothing sinister.   

 

He hadn't thought about it.  Being a part of a club – the socialising it involves, he's not sure if he fits in anywhere.  Or if anyone would want him, for that matter. 

 

"You could join the athletic council," she grins, "carry my bags for me."  She waves dismissively afterward, citing that she was only kidding.  He misses her smile. 

 

Akira wonders if that would include track meets, but there would be no equipment to set up.  Still, he keeps the suggestion tucked away for later.  He could get closer to the coaches – to Kamoshida, who he still hasn't seen himself.  He could be closer to Shiho.  Intervene, if he was brave.  Be more like Sakamoto.  Do something, anything. 

 

"I'll think about it," he replies softly.  There would be minimal involvement with other students, only reporting back to teachers.  To Kamoshida.  His eyes narrow.  "Are you free after school?" 

 

"I guess so.  Ann's always busy now..."  She sounds defeated.  Her earlier enthusiasm for Ann's modelling seems to dissipate.  "The volleyball rally's next week, so Kamoshida's been taking it out on the boys more." 

 

He questions if that was just an expression, or a slip of the tongue.  Taking it out on the boys – physically?  But he's doing that to the girls team too, evidently.  He wonders how despicable a man must have to be to harm a woman – and a girl, no less.  Though the gender of the victim doesn't make it any less vile. 

 

"I guess you miss her a lot." 

 

 _She doesn't like boys._  

 

"Yeah...I don't really talk to anyone else.  Well, besides you, now."  The morning bell rings, and she's off his desk like the drop of a hat.  Shiho is too pleasant not to have an abundance of friends, like how Sakamoto's track mates are drawn to him like a flame. 

 

Kawakami glares at him from her position sitting on her desk, calling for him to the front to distribute test results from a previous class.  Shiho's result – 93 percent.  Akira holds his breath.  He tries not to pay attention to the grimacing of the students he passes by.  His own result, a decent 85.  It still doesn't seem like enough for Kawakami. 

 

The academic year would be long. 

 

* * *

 

 

Shiho decides to humour him and take him to explore the school during the lunch hour.  He feels safe with her by his side, even though she's a good half-foot shorter than him.  The glares and murmurs down the hallways hurt less while she talks to him about Ann, and how they met earlier in the year.  To him, Ann seems almost untouchable, but she seems to be a completely different person to Shiho. 

 

He wonders if they must be in love.  He doesn't know the feeling himself.  An enduring, long-lasting love, even when she can't see the other. 

 

They make their way downstairs, to the courtyard.  He supposes Shiho would want to avoid the sports building.  She does, but still takes him outside.  The number of students here disperse, to his satisfaction.  There's no clear path, but Shiho seems to know the area like the back of her hand. 

 

"It's quiet here, right?"  She says, weaving her arm with Akira's.  No segway into another story about Ann, surprisingly.  Shiho looks like the kind of person who needs her alone time, he thinks.  They find a small slope to sit on, in complete silence.  "I like to run here with Sakamoto, sometimes.  Takes my mind off of things." 

 

Akira does his best not to perk at the mention of him. 

 

"I thought he'd rather run around the track."  Shujin is equipped with a massive track field, much bigger than anything he's ever seen back home. 

 

"For training.  For fun he likes to run around here." 

 

Must be an athlete thing, exhausting yourself "for fun".  He opens his mouth to make the quip, but a shadow descends upon them against the bright sunlight. 

 

"Hey, Suzui." 

 

Sakamoto's airy voice. 

 

"Whatcha up to?"  He continues, hands in his pockets.  Just in his regular school uniform again, with the blazer open.  The cut on his lip has healed significantly. 

 

"Nothing.  Just wanted some peace and quiet." 

 

He bends down slightly, a grin plastered on his face.  It's dazzling.  "Not cheatin' on Ann, are you?"  Shiho groans and swats at his leg.  He relents, but acknowledges Akira for the first time, looking into his eyes.  "'Cause she'd kill you if she found out."  Despite the chill in his tone, Akira can't help but feel hot.  He prays his blush isn't as deep as he thinks. 

 

"Leave my friend alone already!"  Shiho pouts.  He doesn't think he'll get tired of being referred to as her friend.  Still, he feels like an outsider around their obvious and easy camaraderie.  His hands feel heavy in his lap. 

 

"All right, all right!  I'll see you around." 

 

Gone just like that.  He wishes he said something, instead of shrinking away. 

 

"He didn't mean that," Shiho reassures him.  "He just likes to tease." 

 

It's eerie how quickly he disappears, like a phantom. 

 

* * *

 

Sojiro is pleased to see Shiho when she steps inside Leblanc, greeting him with a smile.  He's quick to fetch her a tall mug of hot chocolate, on the house. 

 

"A date?"  Sojiro whispers to Akira behind the counter as he goes to retrieve it for her. 

 

"She doesn't like boys," Akira replies. 

 

"Oh." 

 

He goes back to tending to several unused cups on display. 

 

Shiho already has a textbook and notebook out when Akira joins her at the middle booth.  As diligent as ever.  He thinks it must be a distraction for the other ills plaguing her.  That's what studying has become to him, now.  Though she seems more despondent lately, falling behind Akira.  He could at least return the favour, help keep her footing steady with her school work.  She's quick to stutter an apology. 

 

"Does Ann have any time to study with her modelling gig?"  He asks after they finish. 

 

"Not exactly, but she doesn't really care about her grades, as long as she passes," Shiho smiles, taking a hand to the side of her face.  "She hires a tutor during the weekends." 

 

Ann must be lonely, too.  Maybe that's why Shiho is drawn to her. 

 

Shiho nurses her hot chocolate, barely taking any sips during their studying.  Akira frowns, hoping it's not indicative of her eating habits.  He doesn't know how to lighten the mood.  Leblanc's dimly-lit atmosphere only seems to encourage melancholy. 

 

He wants to talk about her bruise, outside of earshot from Sojiro.  About Kamoshida taking it out on the boys volleyball team, and on Sakamoto.  He's almost overflowing with his concern, having shelved it for so long. 

 

Then what, he thinks.  He'll just upset Shiho, bringing it up.  Giving her his sympathy and anger, like any normal person would.  It doesn't solve anything, or makes Shiho keep her food down, or feel relieved she doesn't have to practice a sport she loves. 

 

Shiho leaves after she presumably forces down the last of her hot chocolate, out of politeness.  Sojiro thinks she's a fine girl, if not a bit eerily similar to Akira. 

 

* * *

 

Akira stirs in his sleep. 

 

"Heh.  Call them if you want.  The police are my bitches.  They're not going to take you seriously." 

 

When the man turns back to him, it's Kamoshida, despite having never seen him before.  His face is pitch-black, knuckles bloody and bruised. 

 

The woman's sob hitches and she squeals with mirth, wild eyes locking with Akira before her body folds and she collapses into nothing. 

 

* * *

 

Wednesday, and the sun hides in the clouds by early morning. 

 

Akira decides to submit his form to the athletic council, to Shiho's surprise.  She begs him to prioritize girls volleyball, giving him her practice schedule and matches against other schools. 

 

"Please just don't get on Kamoshida's bad side," she advises.  Like Sakamoto. 

 

"Okay," he lies, smiling at her weakly.  Shiho wraps her arms around him, embracing him almost claustrophobically.  They stay pressed together much longer than he's ever been hugged before. 

 

* * *

 

According to her schedule, Shiho has volleyball practice after school today, and it's ample opportunity to scout the scourge of the athletic student body.  She leaves before him, unaware of his plan, lest the two would travel together towards the gym.  He takes the time to prepare himself mentally during the long walk through the courtyard, past the detour where Shiho and Sakamoto run together. 

 

The hallway leads him in front of the sports facility, where he walks briskly to the P.E. office.  He knocks on the door with his club activity sheet shaking in his hand. 

 

"Hey there," comes a voice from a very tall man.  Akira thinks he must be head and a half taller than him.  "Transfer student, right?  The criminal?"  He's sure even the mice at this school must know his reputation by now.  He reads his name off the paper.  "Akira Kurusu.  Nice to meet you.  I'm Mr. Kamoshida."  Devil in the flesh.  His stomach sinks.  Kamoshida takes his club paper to sign quickly.  "I suppose you know what the deal is?"  He nods.   _You get angry.  Y_ _ou hurt them.  You abuse your authority._   "All you have to do is show up a few minutes before a game, or practice, and set up the poles and nets.  You can organize the equipment room while they play.  You don't have to do it for every team, just play by your schedule.  All right?" 

 

Akira nods, having said nothing their entire meeting.  Kamoshida doesn't seem bothered. 

 

"What about the track team?" 

 

Kamoshida laughs; loud, from his chest.  "Don't worry about those guys."  It sends a chill down his spine.  He gives Akira firm pat on the back.  Akira squeezes his shoulder blades together, like there's sludge dripping down his spine.  "I've gotta go.  The girls start their practice in a few minutes." 

 

* * *

 

Akira shadows Kamoshida to the gym, several steps behind him.  The poles, nets and scoring board are already set up, presumably by one of the girls on the team.  He has to think quick.  Kamoshida makes a much bigger racket upon his entry to the gym than his acting at the P.E. office.  It's enough of an opening to casually walk in, sticking to the walls, blending in with the surroundings.  The supply room is open in an unassuming corner, and he darts right in.  His heart pounds in his chest.  He can hear Kamoshida yelling for them to get in formation. 

 

He checks his phone.  Fifty minutes to play voyeur.  He starts a recording, audio only. 

 

Kamoshida barks like he's been holding it in for days.  Someone's always doing something wrong.  He's always ready to humiliate them for it, instead of coaching their form.  He doesn't know why Shiho puts up with any of it.  He calls every one of them out, by name, several times.  Five minutes feels like an eternity.  He stops the recording, thinking it more than enough evidence for his misconduct.  Now the only thing left to do is brace himself to continue listening to this for another forty-five minutes. 

 

He starts thinking, curled up against a netted hamper of volleyballs. 

 

Who would he show? 

 

The teachers are in on it – the suffering that causes their students to lose their sleep and appetite. 

 

He'll figure that out later.  There has to be a way.  He's taking steps towards change, no matter how small they are.  The pieces all fit together in the grand scheme of things.   He'll get Shiho out of this, and Sakamoto, too.  They'll survive this; it's just for a bit longer. 

 

The clock hits four p.m., and Kamoshida is quick to tell them to get changed and out of his sight.  He'll wait until everyone leaves. 

 

"Suzui, got a minute?" 

 

Akira's eyebrows furrow. 

 

"Yes, Mr. Kamoshida?"  He can hear the wavering in her voice.  Briefly he thinks about staging some kind of accident or pulling a fire alarm for her to leave. 

 

"That friend of yours, Takamaki..." 

 

 _What the hell?_  

 

"She just started modelling, isn't that right?  What a beautiful girl." 

 

It takes a long time for Shiho to respond.  He needs to do something, but fear keeps him frozen in place.  "Y-yes, she started modelling recently." 

 

"Well, now.  I'd love to get to know her.  Vis-à-vis, if you know what I mean." 

 

Bile rises in his stomach. 

 

"See you next week, Suzui.  Make sure your friend knows I'm interested." 

 

The large doors of the gymnasium swivel.  He can hear Shiho drop to her feet, echoing through the ground.  This couldn't be real.  Akira feels light-headed, the sports equipment decorated across shelves multiplying every time he blinks.  Shiho's quiet sobbing pulls him out of his stupor. 

 

This can't be real. 

 

He crawls on all-fours before panic carries him to his feet, running outside of the room. 

 

"Sh-Shiho," Akira whispers, keeping his voice low.  She turns around like she's about to attack him.  Her eyes are wide.  Akira finds nothing else to say, only dropping on his knees to hug her.  Her tears soak his turtleneck. 

 

"I  _hate_  him," she bawls, enunciating the word in a tone he's never heard from her before –  or from anyone.  "I...hate him..." 

 

"I know," Akira murmurs, supposing it's appropriate to stroke her hair.  His heart pounds against his chest.  Shiho's sobbing erupts against his shoulder, in loud, muffled screams.  Her shaking is near uncontrollable. 

 

He sits with her until she can't cry anymore.  His heartbeat steadies, arms still wrapped around Shiho to feel her calming heartbeat, too.  He thinks about the drunk man in the alley, with the woman.  His eyes narrow, thoughts in his head losing their fervor. 

 

He would pay. 

 

* * *

 

Blue mountain, Kilimanjaro, and Leblanc's house blend.  Those are the varieties Sojiro starts him with, describing their richness and aromas.  Akira finds it hard to pay attention, much less to small details.  Thankfully Sojiro seems just as distracted as him. 

 

"Why do you leave so often?" 

 

It's the first time in almost three weeks he's actually spoken first to his caretaker. 

 

Sojiro stammers.  "Just some issues back home."  Vague.  It seems like everyone he's met so far as some kind of problem underneath the surface.  That's life, he thinks bitterly.  "That's why I'd like you to learn how to run the place, sooner rather than later.  The work's not overwhelming, I promise."  Akira's seen that firsthand.  The workload's not the thing that's bothering him, but he decides he has too much on his mind already.  Sojiro is a grown man, not a young girl at the mercy of a predator. 

 

 _Oh, god,_  he swallows.  There has to be something he can do. 

 

If only he had made a ruckus while Kamoshida was yelling at them.  Pulled the emergency alarm,  _anything_.  Even if it just delayed the inevitable.  His throat feels tight. 

 

"Lastly, our house blend is an extremely curated flavour.  Let me explain..." 

 

* * *

 

Some kind of willpower overpowers him as he steps upstairs, determined to clean the attic he had left alone for weeks.  He had wiped the dust on his first day, fearing for his health, but left the clutter on the floors and shelves.  He could be in charge of this.  He could change things. 

 

The impromptu Spring cleaning leaves him breaking a sweat, but he feels proud, like he can take on the world.  He supposes that's what an athlete must feel like after a vigorous workout. 

 

The wooden infrastructure of the attic Is low hanging, with a long bar straddled between one side of the room to the other.  He can hang off it if he jumped, or had a chair to stand on.  He cleans the dust and scraps left on a worktable near the end of his bed.  He'll throw the garbage he's accumulated later.  The chair looks like it would do.  He'd like to be just a bit healthier, stronger. 

 

* * *

 

Shiho is absent the next day. 

 

* * *

 

The athletic council gifts him a free jersey, jacket, and sweatpants.  Akira decides to christen it today, perhaps as a kind of tribute to Shiho.  After school he goes to the same spot Shiho goes to clear her mind. 

 

Running is a good cardio workout, something he can't get in the tight, limited streets of Yongen-Jaya. 

 

The sky is clear today, a good sign. 

 

Then, now or never.  He builds up a slow pace, intent on running for a long period of time rather than going for a full sprint.  He's winded not even a minute in.  Damn it.  He wasn't going to get the hang of things right off the bat, but his poor stamina has him feeling embarrassed.  At least he wasn't doing this on the track, with a maze of eyes no doubt fixated on him, as the bespectacled criminal transfer student. 

 

Somehow Sakamoto's sole gaze seems a million times worse.  He's in his track pants, rolled up to the knee, no jacket this time around. 

 

"Hey.  Suzui not with you today?" 

 

"N-no," Akira stutters.  He's star struck.  "She didn't come to school today." 

 

Sakamoto's eyebrows wilt upward, he wonders if in understanding.  The lack of an outer edge makes his eyes look much larger, doe-like.  "Sorry to hear that."  He does seem to have an inkling about Shiho's grief, though maybe not the full story.  "Sorry, I dunno your name yet." 

 

He swallows thickly.  "Akira." 

 

Sakamoto grins at that, tilting his head.  "Akira, huh?  Then I'm Ryuji.  Nice to meet ya."  He extends a hand, to which Akira has to steady his trembling before accepting.  "So you're the transfer student I'm always hearing about."  He should have expected as much.  That's all he is at this school.  "You don't seem like a bad guy." 

 

Shiho had told him that the first day they met.  He feels the same kind of relief. 

 

"If Suzui likes you, that's some pretty select company.  VIP," he says, "being chummy with Takamaki, too." 

 

He flinches at the mention of Ann's name. 

 

"Hey, what's up?  You look like shit."  He's pretty blunt, but he'll take that over the whispering behind his back.  Akira can't help feeling choked up at the state he saw Shiho in yesterday, over Ann.  "Woah!  Was it something I said?"  Ryuji closes in on him.  They're the same height. 

 

"I...she...Shiho—Suzui," Akira starts, mind racing at all the things he could say.  "Kamoshida hits her." 

 

Ryuji grimaces, on the verge of looking sick.  It's not the reaction he was expecting.  It's as if Ryuji had been anticipating this, but the reality of it still cuts deep into him.  It's not explosive anger – it's more akin to Akira's own feelings.  He wants to call it hopelessness, but that's not a word he thought he could ever attribute to Ryuji Sakamoto. 

 

"You don't seem surprised," Akira says meekly. 

 

"You just came here, so I'm gonna be real," Ryuji says as he moves away from him, opting to sit down on the same slope Shiho is fond of.  "We all know it.  Hell, he's like that with the track team, and we're all a half-mile away from him during practice."  Ryuji's eyes stare straight in front of him as he continues.  "Everyone knows, the teachers, the principal, too.  They all let him get away with it, since he was in the Olympics.  We should be grateful that he wants to beat the shit out of us.  Girls, too.  It doesn't matter.  No one cares." 

 

"You care," Akira interjects abruptly.  His tongue moves faster than his brain. 

 

It earns a bubble of laughter of out Ryuji.  It's pleasant, sweet.  "Someone's gotta.  I don't care if he messes with me, I've dealt with worse."  The notion is sinister.  Ryuji seems to realize he's said something a bit too personal, to someone he didn't know the name of until only a few minutes ago.  "Hurtin' Suzui, though.  What a piece of shit."  He lifts his legs up, draping his arms over them, cracking his knuckles.  "He's gonna pay for it one day." 

 

Akira nods absently. 

 

* * *

 

He hasn't been in contact with Ann for over a week. 

 

 _Hey Ann, can I ask you something?_  

 

Her reply is instant. 

 

(…)   _Sure._  

 

 _Why don't you like Ryuji?_  

 

(…)   _Jeez.  You started hanging out with him or something?_    
(…)   _I don't hate him.  He's just annoying.  Like a little brother._    
(…)   _I don't hate him._  

 

* * *

 

Shiho is absent for a second day.  Akira worries his lip.  It's the weekend once the last day of the bell rings.  He takes pictures of the day's homework and his answers to text Shiho later in the evening.  Shadows of foliage sway haphazardly across her empty desk, from the howling wind outside. 

 

* * *

 

"Always ready for a run, huh?" 

 

Ryuji doesn't seem to like the track very much.  He wonders why.  All of his track mates adore him.  Now that he thinks about it, he sees Ryuji alone more often than not. 

 

"Shiho says it helps clear her head," Akira replies, shying away at the thought that he just wants to see Ryuji again, and often.  He didn't expect to see Ryuji out here on a cold and windy day, but he feels uneasy about going home straight after class. 

 

"How about a race?" 

 

Akira startles.  "I-I don't really...run.  I'm starting to." 

 

"Then we'll run together." 

 

* * *

 

Ryuji suggests they stay in touch so he can have updates about Shiho.  Akira tries not to beam, but the feeling becomes overwhelming. 

 

Sojiro notes he's in a fine mood as he comes home, his hair disheveled from the wind outside.  His phone feels like solid gold in his pocket.  He excuses himself to the attic, where he throws himself onto his bed, squeezing his pillow tight.  His bed has never felt so comfortable. 

 

He could do this, now with Ryuji who says the things he wishes he could.  It feels immature, but he's friends with a popular boy at school.  It's surreal, almost.  The glares in the hallway mean nothing at all.  He doesn't want to fit in, be anything like them.  He wants to embrace it, like Ann. 

 

He composes himself when he begins to text Shiho, asking how she's feeling.  He sends all of the answers from the last two days of school work.  She doesn't reply within a minute like she usually does.  He'll get her out of this, with Ryuji's help.  They don't need the help of teachers, or the principal.  He fantasizes at how much of a scandal this would be, the shame inflicted upon every inch of the school and faculty.   

 

His finger hovers over Ryuji's name on his contact list. 

 

 _Can we hang out sometime on the weekend?_  

 

A minute passes. 

 

(…)  _Sure._


	3. cœurs

Akira doesn't know what to wear.  He reminds himself it isn't a date.  His heartbeat flutters at the comparison. 

 

* * *

 

 Sunlight suits Ryuji, beams eclipsing through the darkness of his hair. 

 

Akira's still not sure if any of this is real.  He pinches himself.  Sure enough, Ryuji is still in front of him, shoulders relaxed in a loud, violet hoodie.  Shibuya is much less intimidating being toured around with a local. 

 

Something seems off with his gait.  Odd, seeing as a someone athletic like him would earn themselves a decent posture. 

 

"Are you in pain?"  Familiarity with Kamoshida emboldens himself a venture in asking, but he can't help but feel nervous anyway. 

 

"Uh," Ryuji sputters.  Akira curses himself.  "Just track."  He doesn't understand the need to mince words or keep secrets.  He's too familiar with all of it, in only two weeks' time.  The duration of their afternoon together, Akira's eyes are drawn to Ryuji's hips, the irregularity of his steps.  Just track.  Even if it wasn't Kamoshida's doing, it still makes Akira's eyes narrow. 

 

Akira finds everything Ryuji says to be a distraction, even the parts of him that he wanted to learn.  His hobbies, interests, favourite foods – it's all to divert his attention away.  He finds himself less in the company of someone he admires, to someone human. 

 

* * *

 

Sojiro seems more put together at Leblanc.  He wonders if his issues at home have been resolved, whatever it is - or if it’s a thin reed in the wind, easily susceptible to change.  He can't help but think about Ryuji. 

 

Sojiro is almost masterful at reading a mood; Akira supposes it's from his time owning Leblanc, listening to the woes of his patrons.  He doesn't pry, but suggests Akira look for a part-time job during the weekends, to take his mind off things.  He muses about a florist studio in a small corner of Shibuya's underground mall; a small "help wanted" sign stood at the foot of the entrance per his last visit. 

 

* * *

 

By Sunday, Ann is asking if he'd like to go back to the same dessert café she introduced him to.  It's the first time he's seen her without Shiho.  He hasn't seen or heard from Shiho from days at this point, even a text telling him she was okay. 

 

Ann is clearly agitated, but Shiho doesn't seem to be the focus of her malcontent.  Akira winces.  Shiho must have told her already, what Kamoshida was extorting from her last practice.  He doesn't know when the right time is to bring it up, the subject a nebulous elephant in the room. 

 

When the waiter comes by, she adds a small slice of cheesecake to Akira's modest order of a single black coffee, citing she would pay for it.  She's worried about his eating habits. 

 

"Um.  I'm kind of sorry for dragging you out here," she starts once they receive their respective orders, Ann tentatively reaching for her tall milkshake.  "I didn't know who else to talk to." 

 

Akira's heart jumps at the myriad of things she could say. 

 

"I think Shiho's mad at me." 

 

Akira is so taken back by the comment he almost knocks over his coffee.  "What?" 

 

"I...I don't know.  Just a hunch.  She hasn't spoken to me in days.  It's not really like her." 

 

No, no, no.  He can't be the one who has to tell her.  Akira can't meet her eyes as he lies, taking a fork to his cake, "I think she's just sick." 

 

Then Ann is challenging him, and he so desperately wishes he took it back.  "So sick she can't even text me back?  Just to say shut up?"  She sinks back into her seat, defeated.  He can't do this.  His fingers can barely hold his fork still as he stabs it into the confection, only briefly thinking about how it would feel to tear into flesh instead.  Ann starts again, folding her arms on the table.  "I don't know what I did wrong." 

 

"You didn't do anything wrong." 

 

Ann's smile is beautiful.  Her eyes look less sharp as they crinkle, ice thawing into soft rainwater.  Her face is still pained, eyebrows knitting upward. 

 

He knows Shiho has no intent of telling Ann, at the expense of her own wellbeing. 

 

So his hand stills, and his eyes meet Ann's melted, watering pair, and he tells her. 

 

* * *

 

Weeks pass. 

 

Akira has been all but forgotten in the wake of Ann, the frigid foreigner, supposedly dating one of the faculty.  The whispering is too hateful to endure for very long. 

 

He doesn't know if Shiho would ever forgive him if he told her.  She blames herself.  Bruises still blossom in waves upon her body, after every practice where he sits in the equipment room and listens. 

 

Nothing changes. 

 

* * *

 

Rafflesia, the hole-in-the-wall flower shop in Shibuya's underground mall, hires him a week after his application.  Part-time, commission-based.  Floral arrangements are more formulaic than intuitive, to his relief.  He doesn't trust his judgement.  The shop owner comments on how fitting he is for the job:  a wallflower. 

 

* * *

 

If Shiho were a flower, she had wilted many weeks ago.  She doesn't text Ann anymore in the mornings, or during their breaks.  It's his fault, he knows; he doesn't try to justify it.  Some part of him muses that it just seemed to be the natural course this... _thing_ , was heading towards.  A lesser of two evils, but the forces were more repulsive than he could fathom. 

 

His test results start to mirror Shiho's as her grades decline slowly.  They haven't been able to have many study dates since he began his weekend job, and volleyball practice began to pick up for the onset of summer. 

 

Shiho rarely moves from her seat during lunch, and Akira accompanies her, but today she seems restless.  Like there's still some life left in her.  Akira is more than happy to follow her wherever she takes him. 

 

It's not long before their stroll is interrupted. 

 

"Yo."  Ryuji's light voice.  "Where're you guys headed?" 

 

"The track," Shiho replies quickly. 

 

Ryuji blurts out a confused  _huh?_  while Akira feels the same kind of bewilderment. 

 

"Not to run.  I just wanted to watch the track team.  Didn't you have practice at lunch today?"  Akira can almost see what Shiho is up to.  Presumably, she's studying Kamoshida outside of the volleyball court. 

 

"Didn't feel like it," Ryuji replies with a grin, like he always does.  He's resting his weight on only his right leg. 

 

"Kamoshida's not going to be happy," Shiho says as she begins to walk without them, and the pair of them are quick to walk on either side of her. 

 

"Like I give a shit." 

 

Shiho elbows him.  "You can't skip practice and then show up in the stands, are you crazy?"   

 

* * *

 

The hoodie Akira lends Ryuji fits him almost perfectly.  Ryuji grumbles at the detour to his locker, but Shiho insists it's for his own good.  The hood covers his dark spikes, sitting comfortably over his brow.  It barely disguises Ryuji, if at all, but it obscures his silhouette enough from afar. 

 

Akira can't help the butterflies in his stomach at Ryuji wearing his clothes, watching the track star walking with Shiho as he strays behind their long steps.  It's not long before the pair make it to the gym building, waiting for Akira to catch up. 

 

The sunlight is blinding.  He can't quite remember the last time he had been in the direct cast of the sun; it must have been when he went to Shibuya with Ryuji.  The beams can't tangle in Ryuji's hair this time.  Shiho takes them to an unassuming spot high in the stands, but high enough she can keep tabs.  She's probably looking for Kamoshida and Ann, somewhere.  Akira can't remember the last time when his stomach didn't churn in knots. 

 

Ryuji kicks his feet up on the seat below, betraying the stealth of their mission.  Akira notes how difficult it is for him to lift his left leg.  "Not a lot of people watching this time, huh?  Preliminaries are gonna start soon." 

 

"You're not there," Shiho says.  It earns a good chuckle out of Ryuji.  He sits in the middle of Shiho and Akira, while Akira fidgets near the aisle.  The sun's glare is too strong to make out Ann's ashen hair in the distance.  Maybe she's not here, after all. 

 

Their lunch break would be over in a little under fifteen minutes.  Ryuji groans at the form of his track mates, judging their performances.  Shiho agrees with him absently, though her eyes are searching, just like Akira. 

 

Then suddenly, her hand is slapping down on Ryuji's thigh, enough to illicit a soft grimace from him.  "The hell's that for..." 

 

"I-I see Ann," her voice wavers.  She comes out to meet Kamoshida when he dismisses the last circuit for the afternoon. 

 

Ryuji sits up, hunching over the stand in front of him.  "So, what?  The rumours are true, then?" 

 

"Shut up, Ryuji," she jeers. 

 

"I mean, I thought you guys were—y'know.  Now she's—" 

 

" _I said shut up_!"  Her voice is booming.  If it weren't for the only other attendees still in the stands being a good ten rows under them, he's sure everyone could hear.  Akira doesn't know what overcomes him to put a hand to Ryuji's thigh, signalling him to stop.  It's heated from the sunlight. 

 

She stands up abruptly, forcing her way past Ryuji and Akira where she storms down the aisle.  Ryuji shouts his apology beside Akira, but it's more than evident Shiho doesn't want to hear it. 

 

"You didn't need to say that," Akira says, finding himself in the bizarre position of chastising the person he'd been admiring for so long. 

 

"What, now you're on my case, too?  I didn't mean for it to come out like that, but am I wrong?  She's right there with him!"  He's sincere.  It's hard to be mad at him for very long.  Akira is lost in his eyes, squinting with concern. 

 

The bell rings before Akira says anything he'll regret. 

 

* * *

 

Shiho is already packing her things before the last bell of the day rings.  He knows she doesn't have practice after school, for once.  She's barely spoken to him at all for the remainder of the day, since her outburst with Ryuji. 

 

Before he can even ask where she's going, Shiho leaves once Kawakami dismisses them, easily immersing herself in the crowd heading towards the door.  He has to find her, say something to her.  He can't say he's changing and then keep making the same mistakes. 

 

It's much more difficult keeping up with Shiho without Ann at her side.  Her smaller body whips through the traffic building up in the hallways, blazers and turtlenecks suffocating Akira as he tries to move past them.  Shiho seems to be heading towards the sports building. 

 

She's looking for Ann.  Maybe she's looking for Kamoshida. 

 

They deserve retribution, but not like this.  He has to walk faster. 

 

The crowds vanish closer to the sports building, where only a few student athletes were dotting the hallways, gathering their clothes to change.  Shiho is still leagues ahead of him, long steps a feat with her short legs. 

 

And then, despite everything, he darts behind a row of lockers when he hears Ann's voice. 

 

"Shiho?" 

 

"Why have you been avoiding me?"  Shiho's voice is just as fervent as it was with Ryuji. 

 

"I'm not—what do you mean,  _avoiding_  you?  I'm doing this for your own good!" 

 

They're not fighting, are they?  They were supposed to be in love; they loved each other despite everything.  That bond couldn't break – not because of  _him_. 

 

" _Nothing's_  changed!  Now you're...you're  _with_  him, and everyone's talking about you—" 

 

 _You of all people shouldn’t judge anyone based on what the rumours are._  

 

"Shiho, I..." 

 

He's too familiar with the sound of Shiho's broken sob.  None of them speak after.  The silence is deafening.  He's known them for all these weeks now, and still feels like an intruder upon their relationship, something he could never understand. 

 

"I don't care about any of that," Shiho says after a long time, so long that Akira thought the both of them had left.  "Please just talk to me again.  I don't care.  I don't care about any of that." 

 

Ann says nothing in reply.  Again they're shrouded in silence, and Akira chances a peek from behind the lockers.  Ann's arms are woven around the smaller girl's waist, kissing her deeply. 

 

* * *

 

The kiss replays in his head as he lies awake at night. 

 

He never had any sort of romantic inclination towards any of his peers, even back home.  Aesthetically he knew when someone was pretty, or handsome.  He knew when someone was beautiful, like Ann.  He knew that she was beautiful when he saw her tears at the café, agonizing over what she had done to alienate someone she loved.  He knew why Ann had loved Shiho, and why Shiho had loved her the same. 

 

The kiss burns his face scarlet.  He'd never seen a display of passion like that before his eyes.  He turns to his side, but it doesn't lessen the heat in his cheeks or stomach.  He begins to strain against his pants. 

 

 _I can't._  

 

He doesn't know that kind of passion – or rather, someone feeling that kind of passion for him.  Guiltily, he realizes the only feelings he's had for someone that could ever come close, were for Ryuji.  Thinking of his hair in the sunlight does nothing to quell the liquid heat dripping down his forehead.  His short hair, his eyes – his eyes that betrayed nothing, the emotion he wore on his sleeve.  His courage, bravery; his laugh. 

 

 _I._ _.._ _shouldn't_ _..._  

 

* * *

 

Akira is glad to see Shiho back to her normal self the next day.  She greets him with the same  _good morning_  she had done every day since they had met, half-distracted with her phone in her hands. 

 

* * *

 

He should know by now not to trust his judgement when he thinks it'll be a good day. 

 

Curiosity gets the best of him as he overhears a fight taking place in the opposite end of the third floor, rumours contradicting each other the closer he got to the end of the hall. 

 

Bowing his head, he shoves closer to the frontlines, until he sees the familiar sight of Ann's fluttering, tousled locks.  Her crystal eyes catch Akira's immediately, eyebrows furrowing with anger.  Flustered, Akira tears his gaze away from her and to the person she was arguing with – Ryuji. 

 

"I've had enough," Ann says flat, but her inflection is deadly.  "Get lost!" 

 

"What're you gonna do about it, cry to your boyfriend?" 

 

 _Shut up, Ryuji._  

 

Both Ann and Ryuji seem agitated at the crowd swarming around them.  The scorn is healthy, not just for Ann, but Ryuji as well.  That couldn't be right.  Everyone liked him. 

 

The whispering traps him like a rat in a cage.  "What's he gonna do...hit her?"  It seems like the instigator for similar accusations, until everyone in the crowd is reciting the same thing. 

 

"Yeah, doesn’t his dad beat his mom?" 

 

"What a freak..." 

 

It's loud enough that Ryuji can hear it.  His eyes are wide.  "What are you...saying..."  His confusion scorches into anger at the crowd's sudden silence, scrabbling away from him.  Ann's contempt melts away immediately, trying to grab at Ryuji's arm.  "Who told you that?!" 

 

"Ryuji—" 

 

" _Shut up_!  Who told you that?!"  Only Akira stands still there as a gaggle of students stampede down the hallway. 

 

The students are still rife with their vitriol.  "Kamoshida's going to get you expelled, asshole!" 

 

Akira stands there, with Ryuji shaking, and Ann by his side. 

 

"It's Kamoshida," he says, softly, eyes blank. 

 

Ann moves to comfort him, taking a hand to his shoulder.  He slaps it away immediately. 

 

"Don't touch me," he snarls, "he did this.  Your—he did this."  His fists are white-knuckled. 

 

What were they saying?  It didn't make any sense.  He doesn't understand.  Everyone liked Ryuji.  His track mates adored him.  No one showed up to track practices if he wasn't there. 

 

Ryuji moves to leave, but Ann catches his wrist.  She isn't about to give up on him.  "What are you thinking, you dumbass?"  Ryuji's reflexes are too quick for her.  Again he snatches himself away, intent on making his way to – he doesn't want to think about it.  He feels like vomiting.  "Ryuji!"  She beckons, chasing after him.  Leaving Akira behind, like he was a speck of dust to them. 

 

Akira stands there, frozen. 

 

* * *

 

He thought the days of seeing the panic in Shiho's eyes were behind them.  This wasn't happening, was it?  He's dreaming. 

 

This wasn't supposed to happen.  The pieces, all of them – no matter how little – he was collecting all of it, heading towards something.  Something, anything, the goal intangible to him, but he knew it was real.  Because it shouldn't happen like this, right?  There was a peak to someone's suffering until they couldn't go back to who they were.  It's too cruel.  He was trying to fix it. 

 

Akira is unresponsive while Shiho is tugging at his sleeve, telling him they should join Ann at the hospital.  Her tugging becomes furious, dragging him, yelling at him. 

 

The drunk man.  The woman pleading for his claws off her arm.  It's wrong.  It's not fair. 

 

Why are they being punished for doing the right thing? 

 

 _We should be grateful that he wants to beat the shit out of us._  

 

Shiho catches him before he loses his footing on the steps of Shujin's main entrance.  "Akira, please," she's begging, "get it together."  Shiho is much stronger than he could ever hope to be.  He only manages to keep up the sprint to the station from running with Ryuji as often as he could see him. 


	4. carreaux

Shiho sits with Ann, hands cradling her head, underneath a large donation poster.  He doesn't catch a glimpse of Ann's face.  The sight of their grief makes his head dizzy, footsteps laboured as he finds balance against the wall beside them. 

 

He's not dreaming.  The nurses, paramedics, and police officers are all real while they pass by him, preoccupied with other emergency patients.  It's easy to lose himself in the flow of the hospital, the practiced glide of stretchers being rolled down the hallway; pay attention to anything else besides the sobbing girls next to him. 

 

Only minutes pass before Ann is standing up, heading towards the front entrance.  Akira doesn't ask why.  He barely registers Shiho's tug at his blazer, asking him how he's doing. 

 

"I don't know."  It's better than answering how he's really feeling. 

 

Shiho nods as if she understands, and Akira is grateful he met her all those weeks ago.  He's not sure if he could do any of this without her.  "Ann's getting Ryuji's mom, she's here now," Shiho says, supplementing his neglect in asking.  "Um...Ann knows her.  I don't really know her."  She sighs, composing her words.  "I don't know if I can handle it when she comes here...is that bad?" 

 

"What do you mean?" 

 

"I don't want to see—see her so upset," Shiho looks disappointed in herself, keeping her eyes downcast.  She shuffles her feet.  "Would you stay outside with me while they see Ryuji?" 

  

* * *

  

Ryuji's mother and Ann pass by them without incident, wind at their feet, door left open for doctors and nurses to pass in and out.  Shiho stands with Akira, underneath a large donation banner that reads:  you can make a difference in a patient's life today. 

  

* * *

 

Ann is the first to leave his room after a long while, with his mother still inside.  Akira suspects she would not leave his bedside, even at the risk of her own wellbeing.  His mind can't help running to the spiel of his classmates, taunting Ryuji over the welfare of his mother.  He shakes his head, as if his thoughts were capable of staying away for very long. 

 

"The nurse told me he's being taken for an x-ray.  She says he'll need surgery." 

 

Shiho's head turns as she soothes Ann down her back.  "Surgery?" 

 

Akira shifts his weight beside them, having nothing to offer in terms of conversation.  Ann continues recounting the nurse:  the bone had been fractured over repeated, strenuous labour, and his confrontation with Kamoshida had finally exasperated it enough to the point of breaking – near the tail of his femur.  Akira knows exactly which leg it is. 

 

"So he's going to stay overnight.  I don't know when they're going to discharge him."  Ann is tired, voice stripped of any feeling.  When Shiho turns to Akira, the light is gone from her eyes.  He still wonders if he could be dreaming.  The sound of Ann's voice lures him out of his fantasy.  "How are you guys?  Have you eaten anything?" 

 

The hospital lights don't change, but when Akira pulls his phone out, it's already past eight p.m.  He strays behind while Ann walks Shiho down to the hospital café, taking his phone to text Sojiro.  He's unsure of what his voice might sound like, having kept it hidden for hours. 

 

His voice is hoarse when he asks for his usual order at the small, in-hospital café:  a small black coffee.  Akira doubts he would be able to sleep tonight anyway, with or without the caffeine sabotaging him.  He sits with Ann and Shiho, who likewise have ordered very little.  There's less than a handful of people littering the other tables, feet jittering, arms folded across their chests. 

 

Without the constant flow of doctors and nurses, the hospital air churns thick, frozen in time.  Ann and Shiho both have nothing to say to him, tapping away at their phones. 

 

"Will his mom press any charges?" 

 

He wonders why he asks, thinking about the circumstances of his own arrest. 

 

Ann runs a hand through her thick locks; Akira's learned by now it's a nervous tick.  "I dunno.  I mean he..."  She closes her eyes.  The "he" that pains her so greatly – Kamoshida?  She doesn't seem to want to relive the afternoon.  "They're not going to do anything to him.  They're going to protect him." 

 

If only she were talking about Ryuji. 

 

* * *

 

It's nine p.m. when Ann manages to convince Ryuji's mother to have something to eat, and Ryuji is left with only a nurse that checks on him periodically.  Shiho is still timid about seeing him.  She weaves her fingers into Akira's own when she gathers the courage to step inside his room.  At the sight of him in his bed, her fingers squeeze unbearably tight. 

 

"Surprise!"  She says with hesitation, keeping close to Akira as they walk closer to him, their feet almost tripping over each other.  Her fingers continue to squeeze when they catch sight of the cuts and bruises littering his face. 

 

Nevertheless, Ryuji is the same as ever.  His grin is lop-sided, worse with his crumpled, lazy position on his bed.  "Hey," his smile is thin, "you didn't need to come out here."  He supposes Ryuji isn't aware the both of them had been at the hospital for hours. 

 

Plenty of blankets cling to each side of him, covering a good three-quarters of his body.  He doesn't want to think about the mangled, disfigured body underneath.  His nausea returns in spades. 

 

"How are you feeling?"  Shiho asks, out of politeness. 

 

"Not great."   

 

The two of them knew the answer to that.  Akira wonders if he should show up for school the next day.  He already knew in the back of his mind that classes would resume as if nothing happened. 

 

"Ryuji, I'm really...sorry."  Shiho's voice is strained.  It's better than what Akira offers, standing there like he was a stranger dragged off the street.  "What Kamoshida—he shouldn't...it's not fair." 

 

It's not fair.  How many times has he said that to himself – and not just from the past couple of weeks. 

 

Beside him, Akira feels Shiho tremble, her hand squeezing his for the final time before she lets go.  She walks timidly over to Ryuji, where she hugs him.  The sight spurs some kind of jealous twist in his gut, wishing he were that close to either of them, their camaraderie.  Ryuji's arms wrap tighter around the smaller girl, splayed palms moving to soothe her trembling. 

 

"I'm sorry," Shiho breathes quietly, her audience being only Ryuji, despite Akira only steps away from her.  Then she's saying something close to his ear, and Ryuji shakes his head, keeping his eyes low.  He offers a gentle pat to her back before Shiho is standing upright again, walking right by Akira.  The pair of boys only need to look at each other for a second before Akira understands Ryuji wants him to comfort her. 

 

* * *

  

By the time they're out of sight, Shiho's chest is heaving as if she had run a marathon.  "I couldn't," she says many things at once, "I can't—look at him in there."  She's shaking, panicking – Akira moves to hold her by her shoulders to stop her. 

 

"It's all right.  He's all right now, Shiho." 

 

She's not listening.  "It's my fault," she continues, "I could've said something, told somebody—got him fired—" 

 

Akira has nothing to say.  Everything that pours out of Shiho were things he had thought about countless times in the past.  The only thing he does now is soothe her, wrapping his arms about her small figure, holding her tight while she continues to sob. 

  

* * *

  

When Shiho's tremors begin to recede, she says she's going home.  She wants Ann to know she's sorry that she had left so abruptly without telling her, and that she was sorry she couldn't stay longer to support Ryuji. 

 

Akira stands just a few steps shy of Ryuji's room, hands in his pocket, head ducked low.  He returns inside, closing the door as far as he was allowed. 

 

"I don't want her seein' me like this anyway," Ryuji says immediately as he notices Akira walk in.  "Looked like she was gonna vomit.  I must look like shit.  I feel like it." 

 

It's hard hearing Ryuji talk like he usually does.  He's right before his very eyes, but it really is Ryuji in that hospital bed, and now Akira can admit he isn't dreaming.  Akira's hand extends to a chair right beside him, presumably his mother's spot, and slumps into it. 

 

"What happened?" 

 

"Right to the point, huh?  That's always been your thing," Ryuji is still grinning despite his hesitation.  "I wanted to kill him." 

 

Akira's eyes widen, blunt fingernails digging into his thighs at the promise of his violence.  He knew all those feelings himself; thoughts like those would spiral out of his control when he dreamt his eyes and teeth singed with heat. 

 

"I dunno.  I knew it was stupid when I was running over there, anyway.  I just couldn't take it anymore." 

 

How many times would they be allowed to get away with it?   

 

"Now I really fucked everything up."  He laughs after.  It's empty. 

 

"It's not your fault," Akira interjects quickly. 

 

Ryuji takes a deep breath, eyes fixating straight in front of him.  "Y'know all the track guys...the older ones, not the first-years."  The ones that adored Ryuji.  "They'd always warn me about this shit, tell me not to run my mouth.  But he just keeps pushing—and pushing, and pushing—" 

 

Akira's never had Ryuji talk in confidence with him – Ryuji had always shied away when the subject came to himself.  But now, though it made his stomach twist, he can't help but fixate on every part of his story. 

 

"And if you don't let him push you around, he'll pull some shit like...this.  I really wanted to fuckin' throttle him.  How'd he even know anything about my family, unless...fuck.   _Fuck_  him!" 

 

That's all Akira really needs to know to get a better picture of Ryuji – only thinking of his mother. 

 

"Now you know.  Everyone knows my goddamn business."   

 

It wasn’t fair – to the person he had idolized so much, to the point where it felt like he was only awake in the morning because of him.  How could this happen to someone like him, who wanted nothing but the best for everyone around him? 

 

His lip quivers, and he knew it would only be so long before he began to cry.  "I-I looked up to you, when I didn't know you.  I wanted to be like you." 

 

Ryuji turns his head, expression morphing into confusion, and Akira can't bear to look at him when he's being this pathetic.  And to confess all of this, in the confines Ryuji's hospital room, where he has no choice but to listen. 

 

And then he cries.  He cries for Ryuji, and Shiho, and Ann, and it erupts out of him, shaking his body.  His throat squeezes tight, stealing the air from him, until he's hunching over onto Ryuji's bed.  When his first real, deep breath is allocated to him, Akira snaps violently upright.  He doesn't want this, to be the one comforted; pitied. 

 

His tears don't stop streaming down his face, no matter how much he tries to save face.  Ryuji still looks over to him. 

 

"Y'could at least...take these off," Ryuji's voice is tender – he feels sorry for him.  His fingers reach for Akira's glasses, strands of hair stuck to its slick, fogged surfaced.  He almost shies away at the removal of his glasses, the one thing he felt like he had any control of during his stay in Tokyo.  Through his stinging, half-lidded gaze, he stares back at Ryuji, who looks at him with interest.  "You look kinda scary," he laughs, deftly casting the glasses away from his face with two criss-crossed fingers. 

 

The cut of his glare is harsh.  He saw that in his mugshot; his violent eyes.  The kind of look that had scared the older, brawnier man, afraid for his wellbeing...somehow.  He needed those glasses to hide it, forget about it. 

 

"Sorry," Ryuji is handing them back.  "Bet you can't see a thing, huh?" 

 

It startles him.  Akira is sheepish, rehearsing a lie, but he can't lie to Ryuji.   He wipes the tears off his face with the back of his hand.  "I can see fine," he says curtly, surprised at how he doesn't stutter.  "They're not...real glasses." 

 

"Huh— _what_?" 

 

Akira finds himself sinking further back into his seat while Ryuji turns his body to face him, however far the monitors allowed him.  His face is completely, and utterly, amused. 

 

It doesn't feel like he's a visitor at a hospital anymore. 

 

Akira is able to take his glasses back from Ryuji while his attention is compromised.  Briefly he thinks about how close their fingers are, how easy it would be to tangle them together. 

 

_You can't really be thinking about that here, what's wrong with you?_  

 

"I thought these would help me blend in with everyone else," Akira says while his gaze is fixed on the black, thick-framed glasses in his possession.  "I didn't want anyone to look at me."  He didn't have to look either. 

 

But now Ryuji's looking at him with those eyes that he'd taken to all those weeks ago.  Warm, gleaming with the cast of the stars; his cheeks begin to burn already.  

 

Akira thinks to himself, briefly, that he could've taken Ryuji's hand and kissed it. 

 

"You look cooler with 'em off.  Fuck everyone else, right?"  The warmth in Ryuji's eyes leads to a more mischievous, playful demeanour.  He grins, suddenly lunging at Akira to swat at the bangs obscuring his eyes.  The IVs only allow him so far, to his relief.  "Could use a haircut, still..." 

 

"Would you knock it off?"  Akira is stern, but he can't hide his smile at Ryuji playing with his curls.  He only moves to defend himself, concerned about disrupting his safety. 

 

He doesn't need to shield himself for long before Ann and his mother return to their room, and Ryuji straightens himself back into his bed right away.  Ann casts both of them an accusatory glance, but Akira has practiced his unaffected, stony gaze for a long time. 

 

It's only then Akira comes to learn the kindness of Ryuji's mother, and he shares rehearsed pleasantries with her as she gets to introduce herself.  Ryuji is looking only at her, with eyes he can't decipher.  Akira stands up, feeling strange at taking her place beside his – but it's already nearing ten at night.  Had the two of them spent that much time together?  He was already craving for more.  Ann tells him her driver can take him back to Leblanc before Sojiro has to worry. 

 

Akira watches as Ann leans over to hug him, and it still tugs at him, despite their one-on-one.  She walks past him to make way for the door.  Before Akira shifts to join her, Ryuji is taking a finger to the bridge of his nose – Akira supposes in mockery.  His grip on his glasses tightens. 

 

He looks cooler without them.  The same eyes he couldn’t bear to look at in the mirror. 

 

When Akira leaves his hospital room for the night, he decides he likes himself just fine. 

 

* * *

  

_A kiss here—can I kiss you?_  

 

Akira turns to his side, ignoring the ache below the waistband of his sweatpants.  He shouldn't – he hasn't even told Ryuji he  _liked_  him, that he was interested in being more than...whatever they were.  He's been having too many fantasies and dreams about him, too many to let Ryuji's hospital stay stop him. 

 

He bites his pillow.  Ryuji's tender smile at the hospital floods his vision. 

 

A kiss, just a little bit.  Not on his lips.  Not against the back of his hand.  Lower, only a little bit... 

 

His hold around his pillow suffocates it, throwing it underneath his body. 

 

_It's not wrong if I want to feel you, hold you, down against me, touch you—fuck you—god_ _,_ _just a little bit..._  

  

* * *

 

Early morning.  Earlier than usual. 

 

“Hey,” Sojiro catches Akira before he can walk out the door.  He bends under the counter, plastic crinkling under his grip.  “Send my regards to his mother, all right?  And be back early.” 

 

Sojiro unsheathes a basket of different coffee blends, and a neat, quiet flower arrangement from Raffelsia that Akira knows like the back of his hand.  He supposes Sojiro already knew he would be at the hospital instead of Shujin, anyway, despite being dressed in his school uniform.  Sojiro doesn’t scold him for attempting to deceive him. 

 

The door chimes softly behind him like it always does. 

  

* * *

 

Ann is already at the hospital before Akira. 

 

He watches from the open door, straying behind just enough to avoid being seen.  His grip on Sojiro’s basket tightens.  He watches Ann move from sitting in his mother’s chair, to leaning over and hugging him.  Their embrace lasts longer than his heart can bear. 

 

* * *

  

Akira returns to his regularly scheduled classes the day after, at Sojiro’s request.  Shiho had already texted him the assignments that he’d missed.  She’s seated already at her desk, despite how early Akira forced himself to get out of bed and on the train. 

 

“Good morning, Akira,” she greets, not taking her eyes off her phone.  When she does, her eyes pop open.  “Ditched the glasses?  Are you wearing contacts?” 

 

“No, I...”  He wonders why he finds it so embarrassing to explain, that a pair of glasses was supposed to change how others would perceive him.  “I was just wearing them for fun.” 

 

Shiho throws him a confused, lop-sided grin.  It reminds him too much of Ryuji.  “You’re a weird guy.” 

 

He knew that. 

 

* * *

 

Ryuji returns to Shujin after a week, needing the aid of a crutch to get by. 

 

* * *

 

He asks for a favour the next time they see each other, shortly after the school day ends.  His back is lined flush against the entrance to the stairwell, sole crutch lonely at his side. 

 

“I just want to, uh...this is kinda embarrassing.  I just wanna make amends with the track guys.”  He makes a small, sheepish grin, eyes cast to the floor.  “I wanted to talk to our captain first, but I’m a little nervous.” 

 

Ann always accompanied him around the school, or Shiho to accommodate their busy schedules.  Akira had always seemed to finish a distant third, but now he had something they didn’t. 

 

“Of course,” Akira says with over-rehearsed confidence.  “I’m happy you’re doing this, Ryuji.” 

 

His first name still tingles pleasantly against his tongue.  Ryuji scratches the back of his scalp in embarrassment; another nervous tick he’s been able to study.  He moves to place Ryuji’s crutch underneath his arm.  It’s completely, and wholly unnecessary, but Ryuji doesn’t make the snide remark Akira was preparing himself for. 

 

He eases the pair of them down the staircase.  It doesn’t hit him until now just the simple act of getting to his classroom on the third floor is a grating and tumultuous task.  Briefly he looks over to see Ryuji’s short eyebrows furrowed, focusing on each step, almost like a toddler. 

 

It’s temporary. 

 

With his body, he shields Ryuji from the eyes of his classmates.  Again his eyes drift towards Ryuji, but his gaze is only in front of him, plotting each step, until they reach the courtyard joining the gym facilities.  Ryuji’s eyes are searching.  Akira himself did not know the captain of the track team, or that they even had one, given Ryuji’s popularity and importance to the team’s credibility in national standings. 

 

He must be in a red jacket.  Tall, maybe; imposing.  A third-year on the cusp of graduating.  What little stealth the pair of them could afford is lost on Ryuji’s inability to walk gently.  He still tugs Akira to the cling to the walls.  He wonders if Kamoshida is in his office, or roaming around the building.  The latter doesn’t scare him as much as he would’ve thought before. 

 

With Ryuji’s focus only on being unseen by Kamoshida, the pair of boys are confronted and caught off-guard soon enough. 

 

“Sakamoto?” 

 

“S-Senpai!”  Ryuji says before his head turns, no doubt recognizing the voice behind them.  Akira turns to face the upperclassman, only a good inch or two taller than them.  He supposes the pair of them were already tall for first-years, but the image Akira had in his head was of someone much more menacing.  “I-I wanted to talk to you.”  He’s never heard Ryuji stutter before; he said he was nervous, after all.  It’s a little cute. 

 

Behind the both of them, Akira watches how the third-year's eyes fixate on Ryuji’s crutch.  “How are you feeling?”  He asks.  Ryuji fumbles his answer, mixing old scripts and new glimpses into his daily life.  His voice is much quieter than he is around Ann, Shiho, and even Akira. 

 

“This is nothing, right?  Compared to training...with you guys...” 

 

Time stands still. 

 

“I’m really—sorry.  About what I did.”  Ryuji shuffles his feet.  “To the team.  I want to tell everyone I’m sorry, so...” 

 

He’s still staring at Ryuji’s crutch, eyes narrow. 

 

“I don’t know how else to tell you this—but I want to be the one who says it.”  The steady rise of Ryuji’s shoulders falter for that split-second.  “There is no team.” 

 

“That’s really...hey, that’s a really...shitty...you’re shittin’ me, right?”  His shoulders begin to quake.  The look on his upperclassman’s face haunts him:  eyes gaunt at the face Ryuji must be making, his tight frown tearing open as his jaw drops, until his eyes close and his arms are wrapped around Ryuji’s shoulders. 

 

Akira watches silently behind them.  The cries are muffled, but he can easily recognize the sound of a hushed, violent agony.  He watches the way the upperclassman moves a too-aggressive hand across Ryuji’s back, to comfort him—probably the first time he’s ever had to do something quite like...this.  It doesn’t quell Ryuji’s trembling.  He breaks away from Ryuji, who still stands there with his shoulders hunched in front of Akira. 

 

“I’m sorry, Sakamoto.  For all of us.” 

 

Ryuji doesn’t say anything in return.  It doesn’t seem like he’s able to.  For once, the upperclassman looks past Ryuji’s crutch, and his gaze settles in Akira’s own.  He wonders what the older boy must be thinking, seeing the pair of them together.  He leaves without saying anything else, retreating into the maze of hallways composing the gym facilities. 

 

Ryuji still stands there. 

 

It’s not fair.  Shiho could, Ann could – even this so-called captain, could hold Ryuji tightly, tell him gently that it would be all right.  Hold him close, so close, feel his heartbeat.  Why couldn’t he do the same? 

 

Why can’t I hold you? 

 

When Akira’s fingers dive for Ryuji’s wrist, nudging him slightly as to not disturb his balance, Ryuji’s face is unforgettable.  Akira doesn’t want to mimic the near-nauseous reaction it tore from Ryuji’s upperclassman, quickly guiding Ryuji’s face into his neck.  Again, Akira is much too familiar with the initial quaking, before erupting into a breath-stealing sob. 

 

Ryuji’s body is warm and compact as Akira’s arms move to weave around him.  He doesn’t pretend like he understands his pain, or Shiho’s, when he held her like this weeks ago.  It doesn’t even seem real, right now, that Ryuji could be in so much pain.  Or that he could speak softly, or cry, or want to be held. 

 

“ _Akira_ ,” Ryuji says finally, muffled by his face buried in Akira’s turtleneck.  “Why is this happening to me?” 

 

He doesn’t know. 

 

* * *

  

Shiho leaves early the next day, and Akira finds himself walking towards the stairwell the furthest away from his classroom. 

 

Ryuji’s hair is the colour of the sun. 

 

“How’s it look?”  He says with a grin.  His eyebrows are still dark in contrast.   

 

Akira offers nothing but a half-smile in return, which Ryuji doesn’t seem greatly offended by.  He helps Ryuji downstairs – which he had begun to do more often than not. 

 

“I’m not really itchin’ to go home yet...”  Ryuji says once they clear Shujin’s gate, “wanna go somewhere?  Or just grab somethin’ to eat?  I ain’t picky.”  Travelling there would be a feat considering the time it took just getting out of the school’s main entrance.  And considering Ryuji would have to take the train home by himself without Ann, it wasn’t a good idea. 

 

“How about somewhere closer to your apartment?” 

 

It doesn’t win Ryuji’s favour, but he seems to understand where Akira is coming from.  Akira can tell he’s looking for any opportunity to act out, and he has to be the one to keep him in check.  He’s not doing a terribly good job at it. 

 

“Guess there’s a little dessert place nearby.  It’s more of Ann’s thing, y’know?  But I guess I could go for something sweet.” 

  

* * *

 

The evening sun in Ryuji’s newly golden locks paints his hair a hazy, melting orange.  Despite his earlier dissatisfaction over their location, Ryuji’s sweet tooth nearly rivals Ann’s own.  They’re more alike in ways Akira had never even considered.  His smile is soft when he takes a bite of his ice cream he finds particularly delicious. 

 

Akira’s heart aches. 

 

“Can I tell you something?” 

 

Ryuji’s eyes open from his slouched figure relaxing on their booth table.  “Yeah?” 

 

“I really like you.” 

 

“Oh.” 

 

Ryuji’s eyes lower to the patterned glass of his tall parfait, red face mixing pleasantly with the yellow and orange hues of the sun.  He mixes the toppings lazily, eyes still fixed on the dessert in front of him. 

 

“I hope that’s not weird.” 

 

“Not really...” 

 

Then would you be mine?  Not because you’re acting out.  “I want to be close to you.” 

 

Ryuji picks his head up finally, though the confusion doesn’t leave his face.  “...Okay,” he says, softly, timidly extending a hand for Akira to seize.   

 

With only a gentle nudge, Ryuji had made Akira accept himself, and Ryuji had accepted him all the same.  He only wonders, then, what Akira meant to him.  He would make the most out of it. 

 

* * *

 

Ryuji’s grades decline gradually.  Akira insists that he keep up with the material; that he was free to spend however long at Leblanc that he needed, until Akira was free of his work to tutor him. 

 

Ryuji doesn’t care. 

 

It frustrates him. 

 

Whenever Akira looks to Ryuji from across the counter, he’s playing with his phone, or even his pen.  Hand in his face, staring anywhere than the notes right in front of him.  Notes that had gotten himself out of his academic shortcomings, even Shiho’s.  It should work.  They always got through this. 

 

Why isn’t it working? 

 

Ryuji says it doesn’t matter anymore. 

 

That’s not true. 

  

* * *

  

For the most part, the pair are each other’s only company.  Shiho only greets Akira in the morning, and is gone from his sight by the last bell.  It seems she finds more solace in Ann, who has taken some time off to meet Shiho’s needs – and only Shiho’s.  Ann seems to leave Ryuji alone once he doesn’t need a crutch to walk. 

 

By the time the uniform policy calls for their Summer attire, Ryuji has disregarded it entirely.  He wears some gaudy t-shirt, befitting of his gaudy, bleached blond hair, and rebellious attitude.  His suspenders hang loose and haphazardly from his hips. 

 

Akira finds his routine switching from staying in his classroom, to finding Ryuji loitering the same staircase. 

 

Ryuji greets him, back slouched.  His posture has worsened considerably since his...accident. 

 

“Whatcha up to?” 

 

Akira says what’s on his mind.  He’d like to get together with Shiho and Ann again, even if it meant only a quick bite to eat. 

 

“Huh?  I’m not really...”  Ryuji looks away. 

 

What? 

 

“You know how it is, with Ann.” 

 

“I don’t.” 

 

“Asshole.  You know what I mean.”  His eyes drift backwards to meet Akira’s.  He can’t hide behind his glasses anymore.  “She’s still dating...him.” 

 

He doesn’t get it, but it wasn’t Akira’s place to say it – why didn’t Ann, then?  After her long hours spent at the hospital, seeing to it he had a chauffeur when he still had to use a crutch.  Had he resented her all this time?  It’s not right. 

 

Akira says nothing as Ryuji goads him into another evening out together. 

 

* * *

  

Midsummer, and the forecast calls for torrential rain all week leading to their last class before summer holidays.  The black umbrella Sojiro bestows upon Akira barely keeps him safe. 

 

Morning, though the dark clouds in the sky suggested the opposite.  Shiho greets Akira with a smile as he tries to hide the dripping rainwater still leaking from his bangs.  “Good morning, Akira.” 

 

He sits down carelessly behind her, exhaustion finally settling into him after another long semester.  His greeting back to her is half-hearted, but it doesn’t dampen her spirit as she turns around to nestle around his desk. 

 

“The holidays are soon.  I’m going to be free more often,” she says, mischievous twinkle in her eye.  “Why don’t we all hang out together?  Like we used to!” 

 

“Right...” 

 

He wanted to.  He really did.  Two months had passed since Ryuji’s incident with Kamoshida, and nothing was the same.  He wanted to belong again.  He wanted Ryuji to understand that Ann and Shiho were his friends. 

 

Shiho agrees to text Ann covertly – sensing her own discord with Ryuji, as Akira felt the same.  Their combined plan would have all of them meeting each other after school, just outside of the main gate.  They could make this work. 

 

* * *

  

It doesn’t. 

 

The slap echoes in the open air, leaving Ryuji's head straining left due to its force. 

 

Every word is wretched out of Ann as she screams, searing, agonized:  " _You could never understand!_ " 

 

Did everything have to be taken away from him? 

 

_I don't hate him._ _He's annoying, like a little brother.  I don't hate him._  

 

Ann is looking at him with those ghostly pale eyes, tearing into him, while Shiho has to restrain her indignation.  "Let me go!"  She scowls, to the person she loves, unsatisfied with only a backhand to Ryuji's face.  Ann, for the most part, is subdued by the smaller girl, but her thoughts are not.  Her voice isn't, when she spits a low, venomous –  _fuck_  you – before letting Shiho carry her towards the train station. 

 

The rain continues to fall as Akira abandons his umbrella, chasing after Ryuji, who begins to retreat behind the school. 

 

"You're being childish," Akira says as he finally grabs hold of Ryuji's arm, locking eyes with him.  He laughs in Akira's face, eyes crinkling.  Like the woman in the alley.  Shiho in the gymnasium.  Ryuji running down the hallways.  He's not going to let it happen again – let everything pass by him, while he sits there and watches. 

 

"Childish?"  Ryuji repeats, perhaps mocking him, if he were capable of being so callous. 

 

"Why don't you understand?"  The sound of his voice is dark, haunted; it scares even himself, and wipes the grin off Ryuji's face.  When he blinks, it's the woman in the alley he has his hands around, and she's scurrying away from him.  "I'm trying to help you!" 

 

"Get your fucking hands off me," Ryuji scowls once he composes himself, tearing himself away from Akira's hold. 

 

"Apologize to them," Akira is unfettered, purposefully shoving himself into Ryuji's space. 

 

" _My fucking life is over_!"  As it were, the words don't seem like an exaggeration.  It cuts into Akira, the way Ryuji is shoving right back, not backing down.  "Why should I apologize?  Huh?”  It scares him.  No, no, no. 

 

_no_ _no_ _no_ _no_ _no_ _no_ _no_ _no_ _no_ _no_ _no_ _no_ _no_ _no_ _no_ _no_ _no_ _no_ _no_ _no_ _no_ _no_ _no_ _no_ _no_ _no_ _no_ _no_ _no_ _no_ _no_ _no_ _no_ _no_ _no_ _no_ _no_ _no_ _no_ _no_ _no_ _no_ _no_ _no_ _no_ _no_ _no_ _no_ _no_ _no_ _no_ _no_ _no_ _no_ _no_ _no_ _no_ _no_ _no_ _no_ _no_ _no_ _no_ _no_ _no_ _no_ _no_ _no_ _no_ _no_ _no_ _no_ _no_ _no_ _no_ _no_ _no_ _no_ _no_ _no_ _no_ _no_ _no_ _no_ _no_ _no_ _no_ _no_ _no_ _no_ _no_ _no_ _no_ _no_ _no_ _no_ _no_ _no_ _no_ _no_ _no_ _no_  

 

Instinctively, like those thoughts that kept him up all night – the ones about Ryuji, panting, undressed underneath him – leads Akira to grab the other boy by his wrists.  Ryuji raises the tangle of their arms higher to rip himself away with more fervor, but Akira catches his lips. 

 

"You're so corny," Ryuji is livid once he shoves Akira off him, but still has a smirk across his face, "want a kiss in the rain?  I'm not that kind of guy." 

  

* * *

 

Ryuji is still not fond of going home early, and accompanies Akira to Leblanc.  Despite everything, he acts as if nothing happened.  Akira tries to internalize it. 

 

The sign reads ‘CLOSED’ as Akira fishes in his pocket for the café's key; Sojiro’s tendency to leave the café during rainstorms doesn’t surprise him anymore.  Ryuji makes himself at home in the empty, dark dining room, shaking his clothes free of rainwater.  He travels upstairs unprompted while Akira considers the mess he’ll have to clean later. 

 

Ryuji is undressing in the middle of the attic, clothes piling against the floorboards with a wet slap – shirt and undershirt hiking up over his arms, pants pooling around his ankles where he tiptoes out of them.  All of Akira's feelings crash against each other, despite his mind racing with all the things he wants to say.  Ryuji's body is glimmering with streaks of rainwater, desaturated in the darkness of his room. 

 

The other boy turns to him, in nothing more than his underwear, and he catches Akira before he can wipe the expression off his face.  "What're you thinking?"  He asks playfully, his tone suggesting he already knows the answer to his question. 

 

"N-nothing," Akira's careful rehearsal in his head is thwarted by Ryuji closing in on him.  His eyes cast to the floor, but not fast enough where Ryuji's bare body isn't imprinted into his memory. 

 

Were they about to do this, after everything that happened?  He still harboured some kind of anger, disappointment, in Ryuji – but his body heat radiates off him so pleasantly, droplets sliding in rivers all over his body,  _his body_ — 

 

"Mm..."  Ryuji moans into his mouth, not finding it embarrassing to be kissed in the shadows of Leblanc.  Akira's arms weave about his waist, squeezing his body tight like a serpent and its prey.  It's nothing like how Ann clung desperately to Shiho, when he had spied on their intimacy a lifetime ago. 

 

It barely hurts that Ryuji was using him, the way Akira is, to forget their afternoon.  Ryuji's tongue is hot and wet in his mouth, negating his inexperience with his enthusiasm.  His arms wrap around Akira's neck as their embrace tightens, claustrophobically – theatrically.  Akira isn't offended. 

  

* * *

 

They don’t go further than that.  Akira knew, in the back of his mind, Ryuji wasn’t ready for it.  Akira offers a clean change of clothes for Ryuji to leave with; the first genuine act of love the pair shared all evening.  Maybe even the first during their entire relationship. 

 

He stretches sluggishly in the confines of his small bed.  His bed, his dreams, where the voices are his own, but his thoughts aren’t. 

 

And that night, he doesn’t dream of what could’ve happened with Ryuji.  The shame still haunts him, like everything else he’d done wrong in his life.  He was new – he was changing – though it seemed only for the worse. 

 

Ann and Shiho had both left them.  Ryuji’s lost track of his academics, his relationships, his future.  What’s worse, his own cowardice sabotages any opportunities afforded to him to fix any of it. 

 

In his dreams, his half-smiles keep tugging – and tugging, and tugging – until he’s grinning, grotesque.  He’s like a monster.  He feels like one. 

 

That night, he sleeps peacefully. 


End file.
